


No One Special

by Hello_Spikey



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-11
Updated: 2009-11-12
Packaged: 2019-07-06 19:53:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15892980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hello_Spikey/pseuds/Hello_Spikey
Summary: An Angelus-turns-William story. My perspective on how it could have gone. :D





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nero_nailpolish](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=nero_nailpolish).



> This is for **nero_nailpolish** who requested:
> 
>  
> 
> _Can I request a William/Angelus fic with a really dark and angsty take on William's turning?_
> 
>  
> 
> And lo! There was Victorian Fic! This is a two-parter. Bear with the lack of actual William/Angelus in this first half.
> 
> Warnings: Vampires being vampires. William being all milquetoast. Angelus having dreadful taste in poetry.

Drusilla needed a nursemaid, a minder. It was mostly for Darla’s benefit. Angelus rather enjoyed her ravings. They were the beautiful product of his own genius, and they made sure life was never dull. Darla, however, disagreed, and there was to be no peace with her until he gave in. Besides, Drusilla had been demanding a new toy ever since she accidentally dusted the last fellow.

They walked the groomed streets of London’s more prosperous districts, and Angelus told her to pick out whatever she liked. Drusilla’s smile gaped wide, like a child on Christmas, and she pointed through a window glowing with lamplight, “Oh, him, Daddy! He’s pretty!”

Angelus frowned, considering the mop of gentle curls bent over a writing desk. He didn’t look at all like what Angelus thought a woman would find handsome. He was not broad and tall or dark and commanding – in short, he didn’t look a thing like Angelus, but Drusilla was dancing upon his arm in excitement and talking about knights and ponies and stars, so he kissed her and promised it would be done.

He didn’t devote too much time to it. Really, it was a convenience. He enjoyed a middle class supper now and then, and it was a good neighborhood to hunt in; many self-important people who were, in fact, not important at all, easily snatched up and easily missed.

Two days later he saw the young fellow walking into another house. A party was on, and the windows were open to admit the cool air and release the sound of the pianoforte and cheerful conversations. Angelus smoothed his hair, adjusted his tie, and tucked in his blood-spotted handkerchief. The door opened at his knock and the hostess smiled vacantly at him, no doubt trying to place him. “Yes?”

“Mr. Angelus. We met at the opening?” He smiled in his ingratiating way.

It was almost too easy. The woman swept her skirts back and said, “Oh! Yes, do come in, Mr. Angelus. From the, uh, theatre opening?”

“Yes. You look as lovely tonight as you did then.” He handed his hat and gloves to the maid, who stood by, ready and silent. She was a toothsome morsel. Perhaps, now he had an invite, he’d return and partake of the staff.

***

William didn’t notice the dark gentleman, even when he nearly ran into him, trying to flee the party, his dignity, like his verse, clutched helplessly to his chest. Nor did he notice the man turn to follow him. Indeed, even when the man placed a hand on his shoulder, it took him a moment to realize.

A horrifying moment, as his cheeks were wet with tears and that wouldn’t do. Not in a man’s company. “Leave me be,” he said, not turning to face the man. He had just made it down the steps to the street and was sure he could hear laughter at his expense following him.

“There, lad. I liked your poem.”

William bristled, assuming mockery, and glared at him. “I said leave me be. Unhand me or I will be forced to…”

“Forced to _what_ , young William?”

The bluster melted into a near whine, “Just let me go.”

The other man smiled. It was, oddly enough, the most friendly smile he had seen outside of his own family. “If I do will you go rabbitting off into the dark? You ought to know it isn’t safe to walk the streets alone of a night.” The man stepped close and dropped his voice, “There could be dangerous men about.”

William closed his eyes. The moment of flight had left him nearly exhausted, and still pain and hurt threatened to bubble up and unman him. “Sir, I thank you kindly, but my home is only a moment’s walk.”

“Then you wouldn’t mind an escort, would ye?”

The accent, disguised before but now slipping through, caught William’s attention. He did not recall any of Robert’s friends being Irish. Some disquiet penetrated the great wall of feeling in him. “Are you an acquaintance of the Addamses?”

“Tangentally,” the gentleman rolled his wrist, a gesture of non-importance, and then held out his hand as if in greeting. “Angelus,” he said.

“Pratt,” William said, in response, assuming ‘Angelus’ was a last name.

Mr. Angelus scowled on taking William’s hand. “That’s not a pretty name; it doesn’t suit you.”

His grip was crushing. William almost made an unmanful sound, bearing up under it. “It’s the only one I have, sir, and I like it well enough. It was my father’s, after all.”

Mr. Angelus grinned, and his teeth shown very white in the low light, a Cheshire cat grin. “Come with me, my boy, to the public house. We’ll discuss poetry and the vagaries of women.”

William, retracting his hand and teetering on the knife’s edge of four different emotions, did know exactly how he felt about that scheme, and responded with a very quiet, “No.”

Which had all the power of its volume, for Mr. Angelus clapped a strong hand on his elbow and whisked him off into the night, striding long and fast, so that it was all William could do to keep up. He tried several times to wrest his elbow from the man’s grip, at first subtly, as one must do with politeness, then with no regard at all to hiding what he was attempting. He grunted and twisted, but the hand remained where it was, and Mr. Angelus showed no sign of tiring.

“You are very strong,” William said, by way of complaint more than compliment.

Without breaking his stride, Mr. Angelus glanced down at him and said, “So are you.”

The casual sincerity of it – and patent falsehood – touched William’s heart. He was far to stunned to struggle further.

***

It was easy as a bringing home a whore. Oh, not so easy that Angelus didn’t enjoy it, but there was never the slightest fear of failure. He plied the boy with compliments and praise, and watched his sorrow and confusion blossom into wonder and admiration.

That, and the fellow got drunk on a mere whiff of wine.

The boy was so pretty with his hair a mess and his cheeks flushed, his wire-rim glasses slipping down his nose. That, and the poetry was charming – well, what he had heard of it. He didn’t quite get what those puffed up gentlemen had found so amusing, and told William as much. Sanctimonious fools, he called them, who wouldn’t know art if it bit them on the arse. These words were among the only honest things he said, and he let the lad dig out a few wadded papers from his waistcoat and read a few more verses.

“Aye, that’s a good one, too. ‘The sun’s golden caresses/ gild her ebon tresses’. I like a rhyme that you can see coming at you.”

“You, Mr. Angelus, are a shentle…. a gem… genilmin of great taste!” William toasted somewhere to the left of Angelus’ ear.

“It’s just ‘Angelus’, William. No ‘Mr.’ in my world.”

His eyes were wide with wonder. “Ireland?”

“Oh, no, lad. A far more exotic and wonderful land is mine. A land where true men of greatness and vision – men like yourself – are the rulers, and the cowardly, the small-minded – well, they are less than cattle. Would you like to see it?”

William frowned and squinted at Angelus. “I don’ know… sounds far. I ought to get home to Mother.”

Angelus gritted his teeth. He did detest a momma’s boy. Perhaps he would just drag the lad home and have Darla turn him. “Tell me, lad, have you ever been to New Delhi?”

More moon eyes. “No.”

“Have ye ever been to the West Indies?”

“No.”

Angelus sighed. “How sad,” he said, leaning back in his chair and scanning the room, pretending to have lost interest in the boy.

“But I want to!” William dropped a sloppy, warm hand on Angelus’ arm. “Lord, I want to see more of the world than this isle!”

“I can take you, show you the world, but you will never see your mother again.”

Mistake. The boy shied away, shaking his head in adorable disappointment. “No. I can’t. She’s so sick. She needs me.”

Angelus suppressed a frown and lied. “Fine. Come home with me tonight, sleep off the drink, and tomorrow, you can go home and ask your mother if she wants to join us on the trip.”

William perked up, eyes glittering with the feverish delight of much drink. “You mean it? She can come?”

“Of course.” Angelus draped an arm over William’s shoulders and drew him close. “I would never dream of separating a mother and her devoted son.”

After that, it was sublimely easy. The boy padded after him like a puppy dog, trusting and eager. When they got to the townhouse, little William pulled himself together enough to bow politely to Darla and greet her as a fine lady. Bless him! Angelus was starting to regret not taking more time with the boy. He had great depths of purity and innocence to destroy.

Drusilla ran up to him, tickling his chin and smiling with ravenous glee. “Oh, what a bright star, fallen into my lap! My prince is come to me. Ah!” Her mouth wide, she breathed like a snake tasting scent, her eyes glittering and seeking his out.

Angelus snatched the boy back, and Drusilla bowed her head, cowed. William swayed in confusion.

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Angelus, let the girl have him.”

“She’ll mesmerize him. Be a waste, no pain, no fear, no art.”

William, so hot and loose, was draped on his side, using Angelus for support. He made some confused noise. He was looking at Darla’s cold expression. “I think… you mean me ill,” he said.

Darla laughed, genuinely and delightfully, like rain on bells. “Oh, a fine minion – he already has their characteristic wit. Go ahead, Angelus, turn him. I’ll be up to enjoy the fruits of his death, later.” Her eyes dropped lasciviously down Angelus’ body, no question of the meaning of her words. He was already hard just thinking about drinking all that hot, young, innocent blood. He and Darla would have a fine night using poor William’s stolen vitality.

He rushed up the stairs, carrying William, no longer bothering to disguise his super-human speed and strength.

***

A rush of air, and William felt vertigo drop out of his stomach, and then he was no longer in the polite front room of Mr. Angelus’ home – wait, no ‘Mr.’ – he remembered that. He found himself on a velvet coverlet. He could feel the feather bed beneath.

“Wait… did someone say ‘death’?”

“Good, William, you’re sobering up. I hate my kill to be insensible.”

“K-kill?” William did, indeed, feel himself sobering. He scrambled onto his back, crawling backward across the large bed. Before him, Angelus was removing his waistcoat, his collar and cuffs were already discarded. “Uh… I say, sir, do you have a night-shirt I could b-b…”

His attempt at nonchalance, weak though it was, dried up into silence as Angelus crawled toward him on the bed. His shirt hung open, looking strangely threatening, like the gentleman’s very skin had been torn, revealing a monster beneath. Certainly there was very little gentle in Angelus’ expression, despite the obvious joy in it.

“Shush, lad. All your problems are about to end.” Angelus was suddenly upon him, caging him with arms that felt as strong as iron bars.

William felt very, very small, all of a sudden, like a canary caught in a lion’s paws. “What are you…? Sir, desist. The authorities will hear of this!”

“Now, don’t be frightened, William,” Angelus purred, sounding the exact opposite of reassuring. He pawed William’s hair in a mimicry of concern and lowered his face to his ear and, much to William’s horror, licked it. He jumped and shivered, but Angelus held him steady, his body heavy and hard, pressing him down.

“Mm. What are you thinking, dear William? What fate are you imagining, eh? Think I’ll rape you, lad?”

At the word ‘rape’ William went completely stiff, his veins filling with ice-water. “Please let me go.” His voice quavered. Angelus was – oh god – grinding into him, and the enormous hard shape had him wishing, fervently, for death. He began to beg and cry and offer sums he had no way of procuring and favors he could not possibly bestow, if only the man let him be.

Angelus continued to lick him, his jaw and neckline, purring like a cat enjoying cream. The awful feel of cold saliva made William want to cringe away from his own skin. And then he heard an odd sound, close to his ear, like… crumbling?

And then there was pain. He screamed, feeling himself stabbed. His throat was being slit! No… bitten! He felt the teeth digging in and the sound, over his own racing heart and screams, of suckling, incongruent and yet undeniable, simpering and moaning between slurps like the most unseemly…

Unseemly? What was he thinking? William tried to struggle, paralyzed by fear. The pain was sharp, consuming. He stopped being able to hear himself beg. And something was smothering him, a heavy arm pressing into his mouth, pushing at his teeth, demanding. He struggled to breathe around it, swallowing spit as it threatened to choke him. And then he stopped being able to move, and then, with one deep breath and two shallow, he stopped breathing.

***

The boy was very tasty indeed. Angelus felt warm and full. He licked the last traces of gore from his neck, poking his tongue into the holes his fangs left, feeling for that last little morsel. Angelus straightened to admire the pretty picture he made, ravished, newly-dead and loose-limbed.

And then Angelus groaned. He’d soiled his pants, feeding on the boy. Ah, no matter, but the sticky spend and wet wool were uncomfortable, now he wasn’t caught up in enjoyment. He stood and stripped off, calling for a minion to come and take the boy out to the garden for interment. Then, cock in hand, he went in search of Darla.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the second part of the request for Nero_nailpolish.
> 
> Warnings: Non-con! (Anyone surprised?) Violence. Lying. Claustrophobia.
> 
> I always wanted to write one of these!

William awoke with a gasp and panic. Trapped! No time seemed to have passed for him, he was still crushed under weight, trapped, dying! He flailed and clawed at the surrounding… wood?  
  
He was in a box of some sort. He beat and battered at it, and kicked. Panic must have lent strength, because the wood gave easily around his foot, and admitted a shower of earth that threatened to encase his legs completely.   
  
Buried alive! He had no more sensible thought as he struggled, kicking, clawing, digging through wood and then earth, senseless of damage to himself as he choked on dirt and felt the overriding, desperate need for air.  
  
Joy! Fingers breaking through, a feeling of non-resistance, emptiness around fingertips, then hand, then arm. Reaching for something to pull himself up, finding nothing, then grass. He pulled it out. He wriggled, birth-like, through the narrow canal of earth to gasp his first breath of a new life.  
  
Angelus was standing over him, hands on his hips. He did not offer assistance as William struggled out of his grave. It was a grave – that knowledge was slowly penetrating William’s mind, as well as the fact that his position put his face in embarrassingly close contact with the other man’s groin, and the fact that the desperate need boiling in his heart hadn’t gone with the resumption of air.  
  
Angelus stepped back as William thrashed the last few feet to free himself completely. “How do you feel, lad? Are ye hungry?”  
  
Awareness followed the word; he was ravenous. He nodded, quickly scanning for anything to eat.  
  
Angelus reached past William’s sight, and he turned to see a beggar woman, bound hand and foot. Angelus hauled her up and tossed her toward William, who caught her, and opened his mouth to protest treating any woman so roughly, but then his mouth was on her neck, not speaking.  
  
Through a haze of bliss he became sensible of her death, and dropped her. Her blood mingled with the stains of his own on his ruined shirt. He stared. “What have I become?”  
  
A slap to the shoulder nearly sent him sprawling. “Stronger. Better. Come now, boy, even a milksop like you has surely heard of vampires?”  
  
He was about to protest the “milksop” comment, but Angelus was already dragging him back into the house. “Peter! Some fresh clothes for the new minion! Where is Drusilla? Dru! I’ve a present for ye, lass!”  
  
And like that, he was given a large, wet kiss on the cheek, and thrown into other arms.  
  
He blinked in shock to see the strange girl from the night before holding him. She was slight and waif-like, but she supported him as easily as the doll tucked under one arm. “Hello, Willy! I’m your new mummy!”  
  
“Angelus?” He turned to see the man’s back as he walked further into the house. He wasn’t sure if he was asking for rescue or accusing.  
  
Angelus threw one hand over his shoulder. “Relax, William. Dru and Peter will show you the ropes. I’ll see you at supper.”  
  
“But… when do I go see Mother?’  
  
The only answer came from Dru, who ran a cool fingertip over his brow and cooed. “So many worlds in here,” she said. And then she kissed him. Open-mouthed.  
  
For a boy who had until recently fervently prayed for the opportunity to touch a woman’s naked hand, this was, to say the least, unexpected. Unexpectedly wonderful, he realized, as her arms twined around him. If he had been given the power to fly, he would not have felt better rewarded.  
  
It was, for a while, truly a new and exciting world. He was given a bath and a poor suit of clothes. And then he was unexpectedly, wonderfully, ravished by the beautiful Drusilla, who bit and clawed at him, but that seemed only to add to the mad pleasure.  
  
He relished in his new strength, and his beautiful charge, Drusilla. His main purpose seemed to be to keep her out of trouble, and it was no hardship at all, given the loose definition the vampires seemed to have for “trouble”.  
  
They danced on the rooftops, quite literally, and murdered without remorse. He got into bar fights! Real bar fights with frightful big brutes of men, and beat them easily.  
  
No one questioned the death of a well-known belligerent.  
  
And Angelus was a kind patriarch, a font of endless wisdom on a variety of subjects. His patience was short, of course, and he did not appreciate more than one question at a time from a new minion, but he did enjoy explaining the finer points of being a vampire when in the right mood. In fact, he even favored William with some extraordinary nights on the town which he called ‘hunts’.   
  
He found their fondness for calling their staff ‘minions’ a bit undignified, but he was not discontent. He was loved, and strong. He even approached Angelus timidly to remind him that he was to be permitted to ask his mother along on their adventures. Angelus had smiled broadly and laughed, clapping him on the shoulder and assuring him it was a marvelous idea and he should go right away. He was also permitted to take Drusilla with him.  
  
That incident went so badly that he refrained from going out much at all for a fortnight.  
  
It was, then, like his depression opened his eyes. There were no plans to leave London. No grand tour of the world, or even the district, was in the works. Darla and Angelus, decadent pashas of their secret enclave, were well-settled and disinclined to more than the occasional night of debauchery. And what was this new freedom and confidence if he was daily dismissed and ignored? Although he had on the surface considered his new situation preferable to any previous, it began more and more to resemble his freshman year at school.  
  
If he so much as spoke in Madam Darla’s hearing, he received a clouting the likes of which a grown man would never expect to receive.  
  
And while the tasks assigned him were not onerous, he began to notice the off-hand way he was addressed, and the menial nature. “New boy, Angelus needs a driver tonight,” Peter called, walking past him with arms full of rope.  
  
“You know my name,” William muttered, and then, realization hitting, he ran after the chief minion. “Hey! I’m not a coachman!”  
  
“You are now,” Peter said, and pushed the bundle of ropes at him. “Here, take this to the carriage house. Patsy is there and she knows what its for.”  
  
“Is this the way it is?” William wondered out loud.  
  
“Yes it is,” Peter responded, and gave him a little shove. “Now get to work. If you don’t like it, you can strike out on your own. I dare you to. We love hunting the freelancers.”  
  
Humbly, he ducked his head and carried the rope to the carriage house. But at night, he started whispering to Drusilla about running away, striking out on their own. Drusilla told him solemnly that they would, of course, and then laughed maniacally when he tried to extract a date of departure from her.  
  
It was not anything in particular, or even a particular day, that made his composure snap. If anything, the request Angelus casually threw his way was more politely-worded than usual. “Oh, William, fetch me the late edition paper. There’s a lad.” He tossed a coin at him without looking.  
  
William caught it. He always caught things thrown his way, now. He turned the coin over in his hand and then flung it back. It bounced merrily off the top of Angelus’ head.  
  
The great gentleman turned, expression dark. “I didn’t quite catch that, boy. Care to repeat yourself to my face?”  
  
“I’m not afraid of you.”  
  
Angelus smiled, then, and grabbed the front of William’s shirt. “We’ll have to rectify that.”  
  
William quivered with rage. He pushed himself free, though it left Angelus with a handful of white linen, which Angelus casually tossed over his shoulder. William clenched his fists. “You took me. I will never see my mother again. Where is the wonderful world you promised me?”  
  
“You’re standing in it.”  
  
“This? Doing your laundry? Being your nursemaid?”  
  
Angelus crowded him toward the wall. “You’ll be whatever I tell you to be. I made you and I can un-make you.”  
  
“Then do so, because I will not tolerate…”  
  
Angelus boxed his ear. William’s argument was lost in a wordless cry as he launched himself at Angelus.  
  
Angelus stepped aside easily, with a grace none of William’s tavern opponents had possessed. He crashed into an armchair. Undaunted, he picked himself up and launched at Angelus again, to hit the stair-rail.  
  
He was pulled up by his hair before he could get his feet under him. His fists swung wildly, always somehow short of the target. Angelus shook him, hard, surprisingly hard, and smashed him through the railing.  
  
From the study, Darla’s cool voice carried, “Do leave the house intact, Angelus.” Amazing what a vampire could hear in the heat of battle. William even heard her turning the page of her book before Angelus punched him in the nose and all sound was drowned out in a rush of blood and anger.  
  
He kicked and screamed and shouted words that he would never have even thought to himself, before his death. Still Angelus was like a solid rock, and he the waves, wracking himself without discernable affect.  
  
***  
  
Angelus had not expected trouble from William. Sure, frequently young minions needed to be put in their places. It seemed as soon as their teeth were cut, they started putting on airs, expecting to challenge Lucifer himself for his throne or such. But William hadn’t seemed the type. If anything, he had been getting quieter with each succeeding week.  
  
And now this.  
  
He hauled the boy, hissing and struggling like a cat, up the stairs and threw him on the floor of the master suite.   
  
As he opened his coat and felt for the strop he kept for just such emergencies, young William glanced in pure terror from him to the bed and back, then scrambled to stand in the farthest back corner, fists raised.  
  
Angelus smiled. “Remembering the night of your death, are ye, Willy?”  
  
“William,” he corrected automatically in a quavering voice.  
  
Angelus approached leisurely, taking off his coat and dropping it on the settee as he passed it. “You’re not scared, now? Do you think I’ll kill ye again?”  
  
William looked down, fiercely silent, clearly unable to admit defeat but fully aware of it looming.  
  
“What are ye looking at? My cock?”  
  
The boy’s eyes flashed straight up to glare at his face. Oh, what a delight this simple disciplinary action was turning into. Angelus slipped the knot from his neck-cloth. The boy flinched. Angelus stalked toward him, loosening his clothing with protracted care, enjoying ever nuance of reaction. “Is that what ye want, boy? Acting out to get a little taste of your sire’s affections?”  
  
William roared his fury and attacked. Angelus, well warmed by the scream, deflected his first punch easily, but then was caught with a kick to the shin. The boy landed several good blows. Enough to truly infuriate Angelus, who responded by gathering the boy up and slamming him head-first into the wardrobe, then pulling him out by his shirt-front and knocking his head against the bedpost a few times.  
  
He then tore what remained of William’s shirt off in two great pieces and picked him up by his breeches.  
  
He had a fair enough face, but Angelus expected nothing special from his body – probably a slack bag of bones under those clothes, naught but a pouching belly. He’d had his fair share of rich man’s sons. But someone had taken care in young William’s physical education. He ran his palm over a fine body. “Drusilla has second sight after all,” he mused. “Might not kill you, after all.”  
  
“You bastard!” William blinked and shook his head, dazed, and tried to wriggle out of Angelus’ grasp. But Angelus had new motivation now. He pulled the boy’s breeches down, tearing his flies, and threw him face-first onto the bed. It was easy enough to pin him there, covering his body with all the advantages of strength, size, and leverage.  
  
Angelus rested his forearm hard across his shoulder-blades and saw to undoing his own flies. “Now beg,” he said.  
  
He got hysterical sobs in response, so he backhanded the boy. “Come now, William. I give an order, you obey it. That’s how this works. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotton.”  
  
“P-please, sir. Please let me up.”  
  
“Mmm. Better. Keep talking.”  
  
“What?” William twisted, trying to look back at him.  
  
“Not that it makes any difference to what I’m going to do to you,” Angelus purred, sliding his cock back and forth along the delicious cleft of soft skin, “but why don’t you tell me what’s made you so violently turn against me?”  
  
“You lied to me. Your whole interest in me was just to recruit a new slave. Is this what you do? Pounce upon some innocent fellow whenever there is a gap in the household staff?”  
  
“Am I supposed to deny this, pretty William?”  
  
“I thought you… you said I was special.”  
  
“If you were at all special to me, you wouldn’t have died a virgin.” And, thrusting forward to emphasize that word, Angelus nullified its meaning and gloried in the howl of pain beneath him.  
  
Glorious. Tight and firm and quivering, all the gasps and sobs: still so human, he was, like a corpse not quite cooled. Angelus fucked into narrow depths, exaulting in the feel, and licked salty tears before latching his teeth just where he had drained the boy's life, remembering that flavor drove his hips into pounding frenzies. He tore and grabbed and slammed, seeking to tear the boy apart for his pleasure.  
  
His completion was a straight path, easily achieved, and he sighed with it, the whole of his body relaxed, replete, boneless. He pushed and prodded the tense, hard little pillow beneath him.  
  
When he had quite rested enough to be sensible to sound, he realized the boy was still sobbing. Angelus shifted, releasing most of his weight from the boy, but gathering his arms around him, pulling him back against his chest as William immediately tried to bolt.  
  
"Shh. Shhh, pretty William," Angelus cooed, petting the boy's hair and chest, running his hands over all the flesh he could reach. "There, lad. Ye are special. Shhh."  
  
And William collapsed against him, sobs quieting to hiccups, undone by kindness. Angelus grinned into his shoulder. Yes, controlling William was going to be quite easy, and pleasant.  
  
Drusilla had the sight, after all.


End file.
